Gentlemen and Players
by Thessaly
Summary: A very young Ramses Emerson encounters a very young Peter Wimsey and a rather dashing AJ Raffles.


There are some memories which are indelible. For Ramses Emerson, these included the day they had found Nefret, the day Bertha had been shot and, before all of these, the day he had met AJ Raffles.

They were at Chalfont visiting Walter and Evelyn, who were throwing a house party for vague social reasons of their own. Walter had his friend from Cambridge up and that friend had brought _his_ friend. Simultaneously, Evelyn had been required to ask the Duchess of Denver out of some kind of noblesse oblige. Upon arrival, Ramses was packed off the nursery (he noticed later that his father had been packed off to the library and felt slightly better about it; at least he wasn't the only sufferer in his mother's social zeal) where he found a small, pale boy sitting by the window and reading a book. Ramses lingered in the doorway, eyeing the boy and his book. He had yellow hair combed back like a grownup's and lighter yellow than Ramses had ever seen, even on Lia and his other girl cousins. It didn't look real, and neither did the little boy in his sailor suit.

The boy looked up from his book, marked his place conscientiously, and said, "Hullo."

"Hullo," responded Ramses, warily. "Who're you?"

"I'm Peter. What happened to your clothes?"

Ramses looked down. His front was brown. Ah, yes. He tried to explain. "I was making some researches of a most significant and important nature in our back garden, or more precisely, the north-west corner near the kitchen garden when Rose the domestic aid informed me that I was required to go to Chalfont. She did not, unfortunately, give me sufficient time to change my attire and I was forced to make a rather long and arduous journey dressed as I am now which is," he admitted, "a little the worse for wear."

"Rather," said Peter. "Are you one of the Emersons?"

Ramses was offended. "Of course I am. My father is the greatest Egyptologist of this or any other age."

"Smashing. Wasn't the pater out at the Great Pyramid last winter? I think I saw something in the papers about it."

"Yes, we have a somewhat unfortunate knack for attracting the press. Or rather," Ramses amended, "my mother has an unfortunate knack, and the press, especially _The Daily Yell_, has been most attentive to our archeological endeavours in the past. This season we also encountered a Master Criminal, whom _I_ identified through a canny knowledge of popular culture."

Peter eyed Ramses out of a shining face. He looked, Ramses thought, exactly like one of the good little boys in those revolting books neighbors and religions ladies sometimes thrust on him. "I say, Walter – it is Walter, ain't it?"

"My given name is Walter Peabody Emerson," said Ramses, "but Mother and Father and Uncle Walter call me Ramses. Aunt Evelyn is unfortunately prone to forgetting, but I have considered it at great length and come to the conclusion that I prefer Ramses."

"Righto. Ramses, then. D'you play much cricket?"

Ramses gaped at him. Cricket? Cricket was a game for nancy boys; _Percy_ had tried to make him play cricket. "No," he said stiffly. "Cricket is not a skill generally taught or appreciated in my domestic environment."

"Pity," said Peter. "There's a spiffin' bowler down there scoring off my brother like the blazes. I wonder who he can be?"

"I'm sure I have no idea," Ramses answered primly.

"I'm going out," Peter announced. "Want to see who the bowler is. D'you fancy coming along?"

To play _cricket_? "No thank you," said Ramses. "I shall continue my study of the Fourth Dynasty."

"Well, cheerio, then," said Peter, swinging off his window seat. "I'm sure I'll see you about."

--

One of Aunt Evelyn's nurses retrieved them for tea and took all of the cousins and the still strangely tidy Peter down to the drawing room. Peter's almost grownup brother was there already, talking to a tall man with curly black hair and bright eyes. Peter went over immediately and Ramses assumed this must be the cricketer. Willie and Johnny toddled over as well, and even Lia followed. Ramses looked for allies and found none – Aunt Evelyn was chatting with Uncle Walter's friend, Uncle Walter and Father were talking about a recent article Ramses hadn't read yet, and even his mother was busy, speaking enthusiastically to an elegant lady in purple silk, who was also talking.

Ramses hung around the tea-tray and helped himself to some biscuits without anyone looking. He was getting quite proficient at it – usually it was only his mother who noticed, and she was too taken up with the lady in purple silk. Idling sideways, he found that the library door was open. Slowly, patiently, he edged his way over to the door and into Uncle Walter's library proper where he could entertain himself for an hour or so with some of his uncle's books.

He was deep in the morphology of demotic when he heard the voices and reluctantly listened in. "Blast it, Raffles, I was so sure!"

"Hard luck, old boy." There was the sound of a match striking, then the scent of tobacco. "We're floating along right enough at the moment and the Chalfont jewels are by no means the temptation of, say, the Severn emeralds."

"I just feel guilty I made you come all this way for nothing."

"Never for nothing, Bunny; I _like_ your Walter."

"Well then." The first speaker (Bunny? What a silly name) sounded slightly mollified. "I would have felt terribly guilty, you know."

"I know."

"I was thinking –"

"Hang on there," said Raffles, and there was a pause. "I thought so. Come out of there; I'm sure that's not comfortable to be squashed up behind that shelf."

There was a scuffling sound and then a familiar, clipped voice said, with no hint of shame, "I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Raffles."

"I don't doubt you are," began Bunny.

The curtains in front of Ramses jerked back unexpectedly and he jumped, staring into the bright blue eyes of Peter's cricketer. "Two of them? That's rich! Now then, which one are you?"

"I'm Ramses Emerson," said Ramses blankly. "Are you a master criminal too?"

"Too?" exclaimed Bunny.

"He met one in Egypt, you see," Peter volunteered. "I expect he's trying to get a collection."

Raffles laughed and it was the laugh, as well as the sparkling eyes, that won Ramses over. "I daresay he is. No, lad, I'm not a master criminal, but I am a master about what I do." The eyes caught Ramses' for a moment and held them in a way that make him think more than ever of the Master. "No door can stop me, and if you say one word to anyone about what you might have heard in here, I'll come after you with my stiletto knife from Venice and cut your throat while you're sleeping. And then I'll take out your entrails and tie them to the bed-posts. Do you understand?"

Ramses gulped. "Yes, Sir."

He swiveled around. "And you, Peter Wimsey?"

Peter nodded. "Yes, Sir."

"Good lads." Raffles clapped them both on the shoulders and Peter staggered a bit. "Now, Bunny and Walter and I need the library for a smoke so you two had better get back to the nursery."

Under the friendly hand, Peter and Ramses glanced at each other and found they agreed. "Please, Mr. Raffles," said Peter hopefully.

"Could you show us how to crack a safe, Sir?" Ramses finished and they both turned up hopeful faces.

Raffles laughed again, longer this time. "All right. But we'll have to be quick, so it will be an _easy_ safe."

**A/N** _Can I just say that attempting to write young Peter might be the cutest thing I've encountered in a long time? And Pedantic!Ramses is almost as much fun. My creativity could never have produced Lord Peter Wimsey, Ramses Emerson or AJ Raffles - you're far better off reading the real thing (so do check out Sayers, Peters, and Horning). Oh, and yes I know that the violence is a bit un-Raffles-like, but he was only threatening...no one said he'd really do it._


End file.
